


Handle It

by perdiccas



Category: Good Girls (TV)
Genre: Exhibitionism, F/M, Oral Sex
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-12-10
Updated: 2018-12-10
Packaged: 2019-09-15 16:17:07
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,830
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16936533
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/perdiccas/pseuds/perdiccas
Summary: Beth makes her decision.Picks up where S1 left off.





	Handle It

**Author's Note:**

  * For [originally](https://archiveofourown.org/users/originally/gifts).



The gun feels heavy in Beth’s hands. Rio glares. Dean looks close to tears. 

Her heart races. _Think, think!_ her pulse insists. She swings the gun between them and settles on Rio.

“Get up,” she says to Dean. He’s slow to respond. “Get up!” she spits again, and Rio snorts out a laugh. Dean’s chair clatters to the floor as he finally hops to it.

Beth jerks her head from him to the door. “You need to get out of here.”

He hesitates. “I’m not leaving you, Beth.”

She rolls her eyes. Rio rests his chin on his hand, his elbow on her kitchen table, unperturbed by the gun in his face. He lifts his eyebrows at her, challengingly, and her finger twitches on the trigger. Rio doesn’t flinch.

“Dean, you need to leave, now. I’m not asking again.”

Instead, he puffs up his chest. The bruises on his face look pitiful and his bravado reeks of desperation. “No.”

Whip fast, she turns on him, the gun inches from his gut. “Go.”

“Beth--” he cries out, stumbling backward, all but tripping over his own feet. Beth follows him at a steady pace, herding him toward the front door.

“Go and don’t come back. I’ll handle this.”

“Beth, please,” he pleads. “You don’t have to do this. We’re a team, let me help you.”

 _A team._ She can feel bile rising in her throat, and a bone deep wave of exhaustion crashes over her. 

“Get out.”

At last, he does as he’s told. She clicks the lock in place when the door shuts behind him.

Beth turns back to Rio. He hasn’t moved. A smug smile tugs at the corners of his lips but his eyes are cold and hard; she can feel the anger radiating off of him.

“What now? Shoot me and call the cops, crying self-defence?” He stands slowly, and comes toward her. “They’d probably believe you. Scratch that, I know they’d believe you. They’ll close the case right away, and you’ll be scrubbing blood off the kitchen island in time to catch The Bachelor.”

He huffs a bitter laugh, close enough now to press himself against the muzzle of the gun. “That’s what you rich bitches, do right? Cry and all your problems go away? Well, let me give you some advice. On the house. When you take that shot, don’t miss, because your tears don’t mean shit to me.”

Beth holds his gaze. She holds her ground. One long, tense, moment later, she relaxes her grip on the gun, and aims it at the floor. She hands it daintily to Rio.

For a glancing moment he seems surprised. Then he scowls, pressing the gun to her temple, grabbing her roughly by the shoulder and pinning her in place.

“Bad move.”

“Is it?” she replies coolly. Slowly, but firmly, she pushes his gun aside. “I told you never to point that thing at me.”

“You think you get in a say in how we do this?”

“I think you’re smart enough to never leave things to chance. There’s no way that gun is loaded.”

Rio sneers at her. “And if you’re wrong?”

“If I’m wrong...” she shrugs nonchalantly. “Then you trusted I wouldn’t pull the trigger on you.”

“What’s trust got to do with it?” he scoffs. “You don’t have the balls to make the hard decisions, Elizabeth. You never have.”

“Do you?”

He snarls in anger, getting right up in her face, his hot breath on her lips and the golden gun jammed coldly into her cheek. “What do you think, bitch?”

“I think I’m your biggest earner.”

“And my biggest liability.”

“That’s where you’re wrong. You’re the one who couldn’t stop playing mind games. Constantly changed the terms of our agreement. Made us jump through hoops to earn our place when it didn’t matter because you’d made up your mind from the start we were just a bunch of rich, dumb bitches, who you’d get rid of as soon as you got bored.”

Rio laughs, equal parts angry and incredulous. “Have you forgotten how this all started? You stole from me.”

“No!” Beth growls, more angry, now, than scared herself. “We stole from a shitty soul-sucking grocery store. And when you came to us, we made it right.”

He shakes his head. “Bitch, you ratted me out to the FBI.”

She grunts in frustration, beyond caring about the gun in her face, and shoves at his chest to buy herself some personal space. “No.”

“No?” he sing-songs back to her, a wicked, dangerous sneer spreading across his lips.

“That’s what I said. You’re so ready to believe we’d betray you that you came barging into my home, trashed my things and beat up my husband, and you’d didn’t even ask if I had anything to do with your arrest.”

He cocks his head to the side, and narrows his eyes. He plays with the safety on the gun while he thinks. _Click. Click. Click._ It’s worse than a dripping tap, as far as psychological torture goes.

In a prim and exaggeratedly polite tone, he finally asks, “Did you have anything to do with my arrest?”

“No,” she bluffs. “But I think I know who did.”

“Oh,” he says mockingly. “Well, that’s convenient. You gonna share with the class or is this another thing you’re gonna handle?”

Beth juts out her chin defiantly. “Boomer.”

“Say what now?”

“It was Boomer,” she says, careful to keep her voice steady. “The assistant manager at the Fine & Frugal. He was there when we robbed the place. And he was pissed he didn’t know about the extra money in the safe. I bet he’s been planning a copycat to get his cut ever since.”

Rio regards her sceptically. “Riddle me this: you took a ten thousand dollar hit to protect your rotten egg but you’re gonna send this Boomer to the slaughter without a second thought? If you’re right, then he ripped me off and disrupted my business and gave me a headache with the FBI so as far as I’m concerned he deserves what’s coming to him, but what the hell did he ever do to you?”

Beth shrugs. “What he does to you, he does to me,” she reels off flippantly. “That’s the lesson you wanted us to learn, right? We have no business if you have no business.”

“Is that right?”

“Oh,” she adds through gritted teeth, “and he tried to rape my sister.”

Whatever Rio was going to say to that, he’s cut off by the fast approaching sound of sirens.

Beth’s heart stops cold in her chest. She can’t let the tentative truce she’s brokered slip away.

“Fuck.” Rio takes a handful of bullets from his pockets and deftly loads his gun. “That husband of yours is one dumb piece of shit.”

She hardly hears him, her mind racing as the sirens get louder; they’re almost in the driveway. Distracted, she mutters, “Don’t I know it.” 

Then, without preamble, she grabs Rio by the front his t-shirt and drags him down into a kiss. He kisses back, then pushes her away. Undaunted, Beth moves her hands to his belt buckle.

“What the fuck?”

“You wanna go back to jail tonight?” she asks, matter-of-fact. He shakes his head, for once at a loss for words. She tugs at the button of his jeans. “Then get with the program.”

He kisses her again and she bites at his lips, shimmying out of her jacket. She can hear the screeching sound of police cars swerving to a halt; the heavy boots of policemen outside. She grabs at Rio’s ass and pulls him tight against her, pressing her breasts to his chest and feeling him groan into her mouth. She tilts her head and he takes the hint, sucking a biting kiss into her neck. 

There’s a heavy pounding on the door. Even expecting it, Beth startles; Rio clenches his fists in the back of her blouse, tugging until it comes untucked.

“Police. Open up!”

“Just a second,” she yells back breathlessly. And as fast as they’d begun, Beth extricates herself from Rio’s arms.

 

Cracking the door open, she clears her throat. “Agent Turner, how can I help you?”

“Is everything all right, Mrs. Boland? We had reports of a disturbance.”

Beth smiles at him sweetly, thumbing her smudged lipstick with faux-self-consciousness, knowing it only draws attention to how dishevelled she looks. “Everything’s just fine. Thank you.”

She moves to close the door but Turner lays his hand on it, and tries to push it open wider, tries to peer inside the house.

“Why don’t I come in and take a look around, just in case?”

She shakes her head and holds the door firm. “No, thank you. That won’t be necessary.”

He takes a moment and leans back on his heels, thinking. Then, he turns and gestures behind him. The doors of one of the police cars open and an officer helps Dean out.

Turner studies her face as Beth watches Dean hobble toward them.

“You still sure everything is okay?”

Beth nods.

“Mrs. Boland,” he continues softly. “Beth. Let us help you.”

“She don’t need any help from you,” Rio says flatly. He comes up behind her, leaning his arm on the door jamb, an air of lazy, unconcerned ease about him.

“Uh huh.” Agent Turner scratches at his chin. He looks from Rio to Dean and back again. Dean’s fists clench but they’ve obviously made some kind of plan on the way over because he doesn’t say a word.

“Is this the man who hit you?”

Dean nods.

“Hey,” Rio protests lightly, gesturing to the scrapes on his face. “That was self-defence.” 

Turner studies his injuries, taking in the bruising on his knuckles. “A beating like that goes beyond self-defence.”

Rio shrugs. “He still hit me first.”

“And why would he do that?”

Rio settles his hand lightly on Beth’s hip. “You know how is.”

“That’s not how Mr. Boland tells it.”

“Is that so? And how exactly does he tell it?”

“He says you were waiting in his dining room and ambushed him when he came home.”

Beth interrupts, “Did _Mr. Boland_ also tell you he got into a car accident today? Yeah,” she continues without waiting for a reply, “he blew through a red light and went face first into the steering wheel. Broke a couple of ribs. Was in the hospital for hours.”

Turner narrows his eyes. He nods at one of the cops milling around. The officer turns away, talking quietly on his radio.

“Let me get this straight: Mr. Boland was in the hospital and you took the opportunity to arrange a... tryst?”

“Oh no,” Beth exclaims, opening her eyes wide with feigned concern. “I rushed to the Emergency Room as soon as I heard what happened. Dean was still in a recovery room then and they wouldn’t let me see him. But the doctor gave me the run down of everything they’d done: an MRI, x-rays, pumped him full of a slew of meds to keep him comfortable... I was worried something might interfere with the chemotherapy.” She looks Dean dead in his eyes and adds flatly, “He’s been so sick, you know?”

”Bethy...” Dean whimpers.

“And did they? Interfere with the chemo, that is?”

“My husband isn’t doing chemotherapy, Agent Turner. My husband, it turns out, doesn’t have cancer.”

“I was going to tell you!” Dean babbles. “I was rushing home to give you the good news. I didn’t want to jinx it by--”

“Bullshit, you liar,” she sneers with all the pent up rage she’s been holding. “You were never sick.”

He reaches for her but Beth recoils, inadvertently pressing herself against Rio’s chest. He tightens his grip on her hip and holds her steady. Agent Turner keeps Dean back.

In the tense, silent moments that follow, the uniformed officer clears his throat.

“Sir?” he says, his radio crackling into silence. “Dispatch confirmed Mr. Boland was in a two vehicle collision this afternoon. He was transported to Mercy General and treated for injuries.”

Beth takes a breath and straightens her blouse. She wholly ignores Dean’s snivelling. “I understand you think I’m making a bad decision, Agent Turner, but you’ll just have to trust me this is the least bad decision I’ve made in a really long time.”

“I see,” he says with a slow nod of his head. “I wish I’d all the facts earlier.”

“You’re not the only one. Now, if you’ll excuse us, my husband is no longer welcome in this house and I won’t let him use you to harass me. If you don’t have a warrant I’m going to have to say goodnight.”

“Goodnight, Mrs. Boland.”

 

Beth stands at the front window with her arms crossed, keeping her eyes on Agent Turner’s men until they drive away.

“You’re trippin’ if you think just ‘cause you can’t see them, they ain’t watching you.”

She knows.

“I know.”

“Do you?” he insists. “Because I’m thinking maybe you think Agent Turner’s a guardian angel watching your back. But you just doubled your exposure: next time he tries to reel me in, it’s gonna be with you as an accessory.”

“Don’t worry about me.” She turns to face him. “I know how to act when everyone’s watching.”

“Oh yeah? How’s that?”

She kisses him as unceremoniously as she did the first time. “You just have to keep up appearances.”

Beth kisses hard. He handles her roughly, buttons popping from her shirt as he peels it off of her. They stumble backward until Beth’s back is flush against the front windows and she jolts forward to escape the frigid cold of the glass. Rio grabs her by the ass and holds her tight against him. 

“You think Agent Turner’s enjoying the show?” he pants, his voice as rough as his hands on her breasts. Her bra falls to the floor. His t-shirt follows.

“Not yet,” she replies, flipping them so Rio’s the one with his back to the window and pressing down on his shoulders. “But he will.”

Rio willingly drops to his knees but his eyes never leave hers. 

She undoes her pants and shoves them down, and her panties too. Beth pulls his face forward, breaking his gaze, and positioning him where she wants him. 

Rio takes the hint. She gasps. Staring out the window at the dark, silent streets, she thinks maybe she should cover herself, or draw the curtains at least. But she’s past giving a fuck what the neighbours think and so what if Agent Turner is watching them? The best way to sell a lie is when it turns out to be the truth.

She’s wet, so wet, and it’s more than Rio’s tongue pulsing in a steady rhythm against her clit or the fast, staccato press of his fingers inside her. She imagines Turner with a telescopic lens taking high res photos of Rio’s face between her legs. She imagines a thousands shots, pinned up in the FBI offices, all neatly labelled: her breasts pressed against the cold glass window, her pussy lips spread wide; an official catalogue of every place that Rio touches her, and that she allows herself to be touched. 

His stubble catches on her delicate skin. He scrapes her with his teeth and follows with a sucking kiss. A thrill shudders through her and her body tightens. The pleasure builds, cresting. She holds him close and grinds against his mouth, pushing him away when it’s finally too much.

“You like that?” he asks, standing as Beth catches her breath.

She looks him up and down. “It’s a start.”

 

Afterwards, she wraps herself in a blanket from the back of the couch.

“It’s been fun,” Rio says, shrugging his t-shirt back over his head, “but I don’t do pillow talk.”

Beth rolls her eyes. “How soon can you get started again?”

He pauses, doing up his fly, and gives her a lecherous once over.

“The business,” she says firmly. “How long?”

“Nah,” he shakes his head. “I told you it’s too hot for all that right now.”

“I can move it,” she insists. “I can move double what we did before.”

He laughs. “How? You’ve got the Feds watching your every step.” 

“I’m thinking of running for the PTA.”

“So what?” he scoffs, zipping up his hoodie, walking to the front door. “You’re gonna hold a bake sale to get me my money?”

“Bake sales, sure. And raffle ticket sales, concession stands, silent auctions, booster clubs, car washes... my son’s Little League team raised three hundred thousand dollars for a brand new field.”

“Damn,” he breathes.

“Damn right,” she echoes. “You might be the king, but you’re in my world now, and here, I’m the Queen Bee. You in or out?”

He’s halfway through the door when he finally replies, “Put me down for a box of those cookies. The peanut butter ones, none of that oatmeal raisin shit.”


End file.
